


In the Morning I’ll be With You

by charmedward



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, chubby!bucky, popsicle boyfriends go ice skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedward/pseuds/charmedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha puts her hand on his metal arm. She holds his gaze like an infant.</p><p>“A lot of people are going to say you deserve to suffer, Bucky. You can’t be one of them.”</p><p>---<br/>No longer a tool of HYDRA, Bucky struggles to get by in this new world of friendship, unerring love, and far, far too many sweet treats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Morning I’ll be With You

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the focal point of this fic is Bucky’s eating disorder and his path to recovery. His relationship with Steve comes second. In the words of Dr J.D. "This is about Mr Barnes." 
> 
> The title comes from the song 'Skinny Love'. 
> 
> Obviously, this fic may be very uncomfortable or even triggering to those with any sort of eating disorder. There's mentions of weight gain, binge eating and one instance of Bucky considering forcing himself to throw up. In terms of depression Bucky makes a one off reference to suicide. It's not meant to be an easy read and it in no way romanticizes the pain of either the character or the real people suffering. Please take this into account before you start reading.
> 
> This fic is for me, for my little sister, and for anyone else with any form of eating disorder. I love you.

It’s always been easier to lose a person than it is to lose yourself. If a person is missing, they can be found. Physically, it’s a straightforward answer. But when you lose yourself it doesn’t matter if you know where you are. The physical stops to matter when you realise that mentally, you’re lost.

And god, Bucky Barnes is nowhere to be found.

He’s been living with Steve in a small Brooklynn apartment for nearly six months now. They share a bathroom and living space, but Bucky’s bedroom is entirely his own. It’s nice, bigger than the last place he had anyway. Nothing in the room really belongs to Bucky however. He’d returned to Steve penniless and was probably the dictionary definition of travelling light. No, all Bucky owns in this room is a selection of weapons. Even the first clothes on his back had been Steve’s at first.

“It’s fine, really,” Steve had said, pushing a pile of newly laundered clothes into Bucky’s arms, “we’ll get you your own later.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Didn’t answer.

He doesn’t do much of anything these days.

Thinking back, there are a few reasons the overeating probably started: Comfort eating – a classic. The novelty of being able to eat after years of IV drips – reasonable. Sam Wilson’s amazing baking – less likely but certainly a contender.

In the end though, Bucky reckons it’s mostly due to boredom. It’s not like he ended up becoming Gordon Ramsey or anything, there was no excitement in the prep and he wouldn’t say he’s good, exactly. But often when he finds he has nothing better to do he gravitates towards the kitchen. And with no job and trouble sleeping, that’s _often_.

Yoghurts, chips, confectionary, ice cream, grapes, cereal bars, whatever; Bucky eats them all. His life is _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ minus the butterfly ending. Unlike the caterpillar, Bucky doesn’t eat everything at once. Instead he’s secretive with his habit, taking food little and often. Steve may be a sharp guy, but surely he wouldn’t memorize how many packs of Cheetos they had left? Surely he wouldn’t miss a handful of grapes?

And sure, Steve might not have noticed. If only Bucky hadn’t gotten bolder. And bolder meant bigger.

It all came down to Ben & Jerry’s. Bucky liked the Phish Food flavour best. He didn’t understand the reasoning behind the spelling but that nagging complaint was always forgotten by the time he had the lid off and a spoon in his hand.

He’d finish one tub in a single sitting. He’d open a new tub the next day.

* * *

 

That’s how it began, months ago. Half a year of binge eating and no exercise inevitably led to one thing: Even a super solider couldn’t avoid becoming overweight.

Chubby. Flabby. Fat. Those are the words that describe him now, from him stomach to his thighs – even his face. He doesn’t yet have a double chin to match but he figures it’s only a matter of time.

Bucky strips off with his back to the bathroom mirror. It isn’t a conscious thought, just something he does. His clothes – ones Steve had bought for him - fall into a crumpled pile on black tiles and Bucky leaves them there, not seeing the point in folding anything. He reaches out and turns on the shower with his metal hand. Water trickles between the groves but he doesn’t feel it until he retracts the arm and gravity pulls droplets down to splash his toes. He looks at his feet for a moment, thinks he needs to cut his toenails.

It all seems pointless. They’ll only grow back.

Getting into the shower is like letting out a sigh. The water pressure and sound had been overwhelming the first few times, but now they’re a welcome blanket. Bucky grimaces as the scalding water rains down on him. The hotter-than-strictly-comfortable showers had become a habit around the same time as Bucky noticed he was gaining weight. He can’t explain _why_ he does it, only that he looks down at his newly protruding belly and feels a clawing sensation of disgust. He twists the temperature dial higher.

He’s got this fantasy, you see. He can’t say where the idea came from, but it’s there; tucked way down deep inside his head. It starts with him being a secret agent - someone undercover in his life and going through the motions for information gathering sake… or something along those lines. The details haven’t been hammered out yet. What’s _clear_ is that his cover is blown, right in front of Steve (Steve is always in this bit) Bucky’s cover is blown and he has to reveal himself as a spy. It’s always the same action, his hand comes up to the space in the middle of his collar bones and there it is:

The zip.

He takes a firm grip and imagines the tug of it at his skin. He’ll look into Steve’s eyes as he unzips his skin like a fat suit and steps out of it, thin.

God.

He thinks about that a lot.

* * *

 

“Sam’s back in town.” Steve says when Bucky emerges from the shower later on, dressed in pyjamas and his long hair damp. “We’re going to this new art gallery tomorrow. I thought-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, Bucky’s face telling him everything he needs to know. Steve’s eyes drop to the book in his lap.

“Yeah,” he says, dejectedly now, “I’ll tell him you say hi.”

Bucky leaves for the safety of the kitchen.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Sam. Sam’s a great guy, always offering Bucky a smile and first pick of whatever baked goods he’d brought with him. He could make Steve laugh too, which was more than Bucky could these days.

Why can’t Steve see that he’s not fit to be around people anymore? Bucky tried explaining it to him once but all that resulted in was a rather ugly argument and Steve in tears. Bucky hadn’t slept that night, unable to stop picturing Steve’s face when the blond had shoved him away and locked himself in his room. Bucky thinks Steve having a lock on his bedroom door only proves his side of the argument.

He doesn’t dare say that out loud.

In the kitchen, Bucky pours himself a glass of water and stands by the only window. The many lights of Brooklyn after dark stare back at him, blinking occasionally. There’s something mindlessly peaceful about a view like this. Bucky can’t put his finger on what it is, but ever since he got his memories back he’s felt calmed by watching the city.

Soft footsteps approach the kitchen. Leaning his forehead on the wall, Bucky can see Steve reflected in the window. He looks unhappy.

“Hey Buck? I need to talk to you.”

Bucky says nothing, unable to even muster the energy to panic at those words.

“Sam’s only back in the area because we’ve got a mission together. The director wants us in Mexico for a few days, nothing dangerous.” He adds when Bucky turns to face him.

Worry lives in the furrowed brow of Steve’s forehead; it marks him in a way that feels so _wrong_. What’s worse is knowing that he’s the cause of it, that Steve is worried Bucky might flip out on him for daring to leave.

“But they really need me,” Steve continues. “I have to do this.”

Setting his glass down on the kitchen table, Bucky folds his arms. They rest snugly on his new belly. “You mean SHIELD needs to show everyone that Captain America hasn’t traded in the shield for a babysitting gig.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory. He knows he’s got no right to hold Steve to house arrest. As much as they’re struggling to rebuild their friendship and be around each other, Bucky knows he’d be worse off if Steve wasn’t with him.

Steve’s frown deepens but his voice stays patient, “I’ve not worn the suit for months, Bucky.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll slip right into it.” It’s not said kindly.

Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that. There’s a horrible, humiliating second where he seems to act without thinking and his gaze flickers down to Bucky’s belly. The effect is like fire in his cheeks. Snatching up his glass, Bucky heads for the door. As he passes the bewildered Steve he says, “Go on the damn mission. I’ll be fine.”

He tries very hard not to think about the look on Steve’s face when he shuts his bedroom door. After a moment he hears Steve moving around in the living room outside so Bucky grabs his earbuds – _Steve’s earbuds_ – and jams them in, turning the volume up until he can’t hear anything but the music. It’s not enough though.

* * *

It feels mean to admit that Bucky is glad to be alone in the apartment for once. At first he was worried about dealing with his bad days alone, but so far that’s not been an issue. Instead he found that a lot of his negative emotions went out the door with Steve. There’s no guilt for monopolising his best friend’s life, no jarring pain from seeing the look on Steve’s face when he’s reminded that Bucky isn’t magically fixed just by Steve’s presence. The last few months have been ones of shame, of never feeling good enough. Steve points out that Bucky is making improvements, but being able to put his hand in the freezer and retrieve a bag of peas hardly feels like something worth celebrating. He wants to be better _now_. 

Having the apartment to himself doesn’t really help with that. He finds himself relaxing more, becoming more lax with his practically non-existent self-care routine. Days pass without Bucky shaving, dressing, or even showering. The last one isn’t intentional as such, it’s just he can never remember if he showered yesterday or the day before. Time matters a whole lot less now. It takes him hours to motivate himself into getting up to brush his teeth. More often than not, his hair is a greasy mess and really needs trimming if not cutting. Bucky’s grown used to this long style and though it’s a reminder of what he was made into, he doesn’t think he can stomach cutting it. There’s no point trying to pretend that he’s James Barnes anymore.

Dark thoughts like these lead to dark actions and soon Bucky is stepping down a path of micro-aggressions against the self. There’s a part of him that dimly knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s a sign of something wrong and that Steve wouldn’t be happy, but that’s not enough to make him stop.

It starts small enough. At first he doesn’t bother to make his bed, reasoning that he’ll just mess it up again later anyway. This same logic is applied to his bedroom curtains, which no longer part to offer a view of the neighbourhood. The next stop isn’t such an obvious leap. It’s temperature control, like his blisteringly hot showers. He starts holding mugs of burning hot coffee by the sides and not the handle, stinging his one human hand. He’ll make a game of it, testing how long he can hold on before it’s too much and he has to switch to his metal hand. After a few dozen attempts he can hold on until the drink cools.

His eating habits also get worse with Steve gone. Usually Bucky eats two meals a day (breakfast and dinner) with plenty of snack breaks. More often than not, he’ll also squirrel away a midnight snack from the kitchen and to his room when Steve is otherwise distracted. Now however, there’s no need for secrecy.

Two days after Steve has gone, Bucky discovers he can eat a whole jar of Nutella in three sittings. The day after, he scarfs down two portions of pasta, garlic bread and a tub of ice cream afterwards. The whole event takes him under two hours. By the end he’s bloated, regretful and feeling sick.

He considers – and not for the first time - making himself throw up. He gets as far as sitting on the floor of the bathroom and staring at the toilet. The nausea in his gut takes a different tone though, as if it’s not the food making him feel unwell. For some reason all he can think about is having to clean up after. It’s a strange thing to focus on.

He doesn’t do it in the end. Can't bring himself to stuff his fingers down his throat. The thought makes him feel weak.

* * *

Of course, Steve isn’t gone for long and there are only one or two days when he’s completely radio silent. On the first of those days Natasha drops by unannounced.

Bucky’s baking brownies at the time. One of the things he appreciates about the future is that decent sweet treats can be made by mixing some powder in a box with water and an egg and applying a little heat. Baking, Bucky has discovered, is enjoyable. It’s even _more_ enjoyable when there’s no sharing required. Natasha looks set to ruin that thought.

“I hope those aren’t _special_ brownies, you look relaxed enough as it is.” Natasha’s barely through the door when she makes this comment, her eyes twinkling with the playful jab.

They’re not weed brownies of course, but Bucky takes no pains to assure her of this. Hauling herself onto a counter, Natasha uses the rare change in height to look down at Bucky. He’s wearing pyjamas that needed changing at least two days ago and – now that he’s not alone – suddenly feel far too small. It’s only Natasha, but she’s been absent for most of his weight gain. If she’s surprised to see Bucky flabby and soft, she makes no comment on it. Colour rushes to his cheeks and Bucky tries not to imagine what she’s thinking right now. He tugs at his vest.

“You want a drink?” Bucky asks, remembering his manners.

Natasha tells him water’s fine and continues to scrutinize him as he pours it out for her. It’s uncomfortable being on the receiving end of that look. Bucky feels like a target, another fly for the Black Widow’s web.

“Did Steve send you?”

Accepting the drink, Natasha doesn’t meet his eye. It’s so out of character for her that it gives Bucky pause. She takes a tactical sip of her water and he waits.

“Figured I’d stop by even if Steve didn’t ask,” she glances over at him, “I wanted to check on you.”

There’s a tightness in Bucky’s throat that leaves him unable to reply. Even if he could reply he’s not sure what he’d say. _Thanks for stopping by to make sure I didn’t off myself or anyone else?_ There just isn’t a Hallmark card for this sort of shit. Instead, he knocks Natasha’s knee in a way he thinks is affectionate. She smiles, so he guesses it works.

“Let’s go sit down.”

They relocate to the living room and Natasha makes a beeline for the single armchair. Bucky plops himself down on the couch and grabs a cushion to hold over his suddenly doubled belly. Natasha, on the other hand, is doing the Thing. Bucky doesn’t know if there’s a name for it, but she’s sat in the armchair with her knees drawn up to her chin and her feet level with her bum. She fits perfectly, even looking comfortable. Bucky wishes he could fit his whole body on a chair like that.

“So what happens when two super soldiers live together?” Natasha asks.

“We get up at the ass crack of dawn, run laps all morning and then we blow each other like there’s no tomorrow. Normal army life.”

Natasha doesn’t dignify that response with a reaction. Bucky’s really not sure what she expected to hear. He can’t imagine Steve doesn’t keep her updated. Sam always seems to know how Bucky’s doing when he drops by.

“Why’re you interested?” Bucky prompts.

“I hear friends sometimes ask friends about their social lives; thought I’d give it a shot.” That mischievous look is back in her eyes, “What’ve you been doing, Bucky?”

And what _has_ he been doing? Rating every show on Netflix one day at a time? Eating his arm’s weight in junk food? Staring out the window and wondering if today is the day he ventures out again?

Bucky looks out the window now. It’s raining. Of fucking course.

“Nothing.”

Natasha shifts and runs a finger over the rim of her glass. She waits for him to continue.

“Nothing’s fun anymore, Nat.” his voice is soft, eyes on the crying windowpane, “I don’t think I...I can’t even blame _them_. I conditioned it out of myself.”

He risks a glance at the redhead and sees her put her drink down.

“What do you mean?” she sounds surprised.

“Aw hell, forget it.”

“No,” Natasha slides off the chair until she’s kneeling in front of Bucky. Her eyes are wide. “Tell me.”

Bucky squirms but does as he’s told, “I don’t think I wanna be happy,” he confuses quietly. “I don’t think I… should be.”

Natasha puts her hand on his metal arm. She holds his gaze like an infant.

“A lot of people are going to say you deserve to suffer, Bucky. You can’t be one of them.”

He takes her hand and she’s squeezing it instantly. They stay like that for a few seconds. Bucky wonders who told Natasha she didn’t deserve to suffer either. There’s a sickening _click_ then and Natasha is pulling a face and withdrawing her hand.

“Was that your _knee_?” Bucky asks, horrified.

“I’m too old for this sappy shit,” Natasha replies as though that makes perfect sense.

She joins him on the couch, rubbing her knee and demanding first pick of the channels. Bucky passes her the remote and allows her feet in his lap. He’s grateful that she doesn’t comment when he brushes away a tear.

* * *

No one else comes over whilst Steve’s out of town. In a way, that’s good. He’s still not comfortable being around people and the “slow and steady” mantra certainly seems to apply here. Bucky knows he needs to build up his confidence level, but he’s got no hurry. For a man who once lost so much of it, he’s suddenly got an abundance of time. It’s a commodity he both embraces and hates.

Right now, standing in the hallway, he wishes time was up. He wishes Steve would be on the other side of the front door and then Bucky can ask him to go with him to the shops. Better yet, Bucky can send Steve out alone. He’s not _hiding_ , of course. Bucky Barnes doesn’t hide. He… Well…

Sits in a small apartment and waits for his friend to come home. Fuck. He’s totally hiding.

It’s not like he meant to. He never sat down and said “Okay today I’m going to have eggs, brush my teeth and then never leave the apartment again.” And he _had_ gone out on a few occasions. He’d bought milk at a gas station once. That had been without Steve. He isn’t incapable, isn’t a child.

Bucky reaches out and takes the doorknob. He twists.

He doesn’t want to do this.

But the world doesn’t end.

The world continues not to end as Bucky makes his way out of the apartment block and onto the street below. Fortunately, he doesn’t bump into any of the neighbours and forced into small talk. It’s not until he’s at the end of the street that he even sees anyone else. After a while, the walk becomes nice. No one pays any attention to the haggard looking man with the oversized sweater. No paparazzi snap his photo when he spots the store he wants in the distance. Nothing goes wrong. The cashier even looks up and smiles at him as he walks in. Bucky just nods to her, his focus on cataloguing the exits.

He’s just restocking on some basics: milk, bread, eggs, instant coffee. A couple of microwave meals get tossed in his basket too. What does he care? Saves on cooking time.

Bucky rounds the corner to the next aisle and falters. It’s chockablock with confectionary. Candy, chocolate, chips, all the big C’s. Bright packaging clamours for his attention, loud colors making sweet promises. There’s no one else in this part of the store.

Bucky feels guilty just looking at it.

That doesn’t stop him though. A cocktail of embarrassment, shame and self-disgust is forming in his lower belly but he shoves it down for the moment. Three unnecessary items find their way into his basket.

Shopping done, Bucky heads to the cash register. The teen on the other side makes idle chitchat and she scans his items but Bucky barely listens. He cringes when she scans the three guilty pleasures and shrinks into his sweater. Though she says nothing, Bucky knows what she thinks of him. In that moment, there’s less than nothing of the Winter Soldier in his personality. He pays and flees.

* * *

There’s a different atmosphere when Steve returns home. It’s like opening a window to fresh air after days of must. The conversation between the two housemates is rejuvenated and relaxed in a way it hasn’t been for, well, longer than Bucky can remember.

Bucky finds himself starting conversations for once, wanting to tell Steve about the little things he did whilst the other man was away. In part, he wants to prove that he really is capable of taking care of himself. He’s also aware that whilst Steve may believe it a little more now, Bucky believes it a little less. Steve nods politely through conversations like Bucky’s review of the _Breaking Bad_ finale and his thoughts on _The West Wing_ , but it isn’t until Bucky offhandedly mentions his shopping excursion that Steve shows real interest.

“You went out?”

Flipping him off, Bucky readjusts his position on the sofa. “I’m a big boy, Steve. I can leave a damn building.”

Steve holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. Strangely, he gets a peculiar look in his eye. Bucky knows that look. It’s the type that has him ready to veto any idea that comes out of Steve’s mouth right then.

“How about we go out for the afternoon?”

“Oh,” Bucky says, “…yeah.”

It sounds innocent enough.

* * *

Bucky hates Steve Rogers more than he hates Walter White and _that_ is saying something. The blond asshole whizzes past him with an altogether unfair amount of grace for someone possessing a body that large. He makes the whole thing look effortless. Bucky may actually kill him.

They’re at an ice rink that Bucky suspects is usually used for a local hockey team, if the banners are anything to go by. How Steve had arranged for them to get both the place to themselves and skates in their sizes, Bucky isn’t sure. All he knows for sure is that Steve has an ungodly talent for ice skating. It’s pretty annoying.

Just to illustrate his point, Steve chooses that moment to do a cool move that looks like a double spin. He stumbles coming out of it but it’s certainly not bad for a beginner. Bucky’s still got on hand on the side of the rink.

Zooming back up to his friend, Steve says, "You call yourself the _Winter_  Solider?"

"Steve, so help me I will fuck you up."

Steve winks. It catches Bucky off-guard and he has to stop himself smiling back.

"Gotta catch me first, Buck."

And then the bastard is skating off down the rink again, sticking his ass out because he knows he’s being watched. He throws himself into another pair of twirls, coming out stronger than last time.

“Not all of us can do those fancy double entendres, ya know!” Bucky calls after him.

Steve just laughs.

Despite the obvious low temperature of the room it’s not long before Bucky works up a sweat. His sweater gets peeled off and thrown into the stands and he’s aware of the pit stains his shirt has – can feel them damp under his arms. There’s a newer sensation too, of sweating in the folds on his hips. It grosses him out enough to deter any move that demands extra effort.

He goes up and down the rink shakily, most of his focus diverted to keeping his balance. The rest goes on watching Steve. He can’t help it, tells himself he’s watching for silent pointers and tips. Occasionally Steve will fall in line with him and offer a hand but each time Bucky squats it away. (“Don’t need your charity, Rogers.”)

He’s pretty proud of himself by the end though – all that time on the ice and he only fell on his ass once. Steve’s still acting like God’s gift to figure skating, so Bucky can’t resist the chance he gets when Steve’s back is turned. He shoves him (with the intention of shocking him) but Steve makes a squawking noise and goes down like a tranquilized giraffe. Bucky laughs so hard he has to clutch the side of the rink to stop himself going over too. The look Steve gives him when he tries to get up only makes Bucky laugh harder, a stitch quickly forming in his side.

Truth be told, it wasn’t that funny.

Truth be told, Bucky hasn’t laughed like this since before the last time he and Steve were surrounded by ice.

It’s like a dam has broken. Bucky laughs until he slides down the half-wall of the rink, tears streaming out of his eyes. He laughs as Steve crawls his way over to him. He laughs when Steve sits up and reaches out.

Except then he realises he’s no longer laughing. The tears keep coming and Bucky’s still gasping in air but not for the same reason now. Steve grabs him by the shoulders and pulls Bucky into a tight embrace. It doesn’t stop him crying but being able to grasp something solid sure helps. Flesh and metal fingers dig deep into the back of the only person who could ever hope to understand. The grip is probably painful but Steve doesn’t make a sound. He just holds him and waits.

Bucky can’t even say why, he just knows that he needs to.

Finally, Bucky pulls back. A trail of snot links him to Steve’s shoulder and he groans, embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” says Steve, pulling out a tissue from his pocket and using it to clean them up as best he can. “It’s all fine.”

Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve’s hand. They lock eyes, Steve’s also puffy and red ( _when did that happen?_  ). Squeezing his hand, Steve starts to rise, pulling Bucky with him. For an instant they stay like that. Bucky looks at their hands and it feels like a bit more than just hand holding.

“Wanna go grab a hot dog?” Steve offers.

Sad blue eyes promise a talk later, probably in the safety of their own home.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, “if you’re buying.”

It feels like a fresh start.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this chapter was going to be longer, but I felt like this set the scene enough to be a good place to end. Don't think it's over yet though, Bucky still has a LONG way to go.
> 
> I've got some of the next chapter written so it won't be too long before I update. I'm not sure yet how long the fic will be in terms of chapters, but there should be at least three more. We'll see.
> 
> Come say hello on my tumblr (actualkatebishop).I'm starting to post more about my writing, but usually it's just me crying about stucky and civil war. 
> 
> See you soon!


End file.
